Idiots on a Plane (in the sky)
by TessaDoesFanfic
Summary: In 1998, Clint Barton and Phil Coulson are the best damn team in all of S.H.I.E.L.D. Which is why they're about due for something crazy to come crashing into their lives, changing their status quo. Que: An underprepared team of 6, a wormhole to the future, a personalized Helicarrier full of future secrets, and Fury's side project - the Avengers Initiative. Together, they're going
1. Chapter 1

**Hey so like**

**This story existed in my head for a while and then the power went out in my house and now I'm using my remaining battery power to put the idea on paper- wait- I'm typing it.**

**For those who missed it, yes, this story does have Soulmate Marks in it. I don't know if this will just be a side gimmick or will be important later, but this is absolutely my way of avoiding having to write much romantic angst. :/ (For now, at least?)**

**I'm only doing this once so, Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, making no money from this, fair use & shit.**

o – o – o – o

Chapter 1

_In Which Clint, Phil, and Melinda Assemble a New, Small Team_

o – o – o – o

_9:45 am, July 20__th__, 1998_

_Clint Barton_

It all started on a Tuesday morning. It was the start of a pattern, really. Not that Clint Barton knew it at the time. At the time, the agent, the famous Hawkeye, was bounced a rubber ball against the wall. He was sitting in a small office on the third floor of the Triskelion, HQ of one of the most secretive spy organizations in the world, his feet resting upon a desk from where he sat on the couch. Behind the desk, in a perfectly pressed grey suit with a blue and red tie, sat Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. A tall stack of papers had been moved on the desk and stacked by the floor, and the two were playing a game of chess.

"Check." Clint gave a sigh as he looked down at the board, where the pieces were almost all white, and his black pieces were few and far between. He moved his king to the left. Coulson responded by moving his piece again. "Check again." Clint moved his king backward. Coulson gives it a moment of thought before shifting a different piece, his queen this time. "Check." He looks away to fill in a blank on the sheet of paperwork next to him. Clint banged his face on the table and shifted his king again. Coulson looked up and then moved a third piece. "Are you even trying Barton? Check."

"Somedays, I think I hate you," Clint responded. Phil looked up from both the game and his report at Clint.

"No, you don't." He deadpanned, and Clint sighed.

"You're right, of course." Clint moved his king. "I just hate that you're so much better than me at chess." Coulson pointed his pen at Clint.

"See, now we're getting to the heart of the issue!" The agent cleared his throat and adopted a silly, high pitched accent. "Now, what in your life do you believe to be the cause of these psychological disabilities?" He gets a snort out of the 24-year-old archer for his troubles.

"Coulson, you sound like the shrink SHIELD pays to do the regular psych evals. What's her name again? Something with an M."

"Marissa. Which you'd know if you showed up to your last three appointments." He doesn't even look up – there's little heat in his voice, only very quiet, resigned disappointment. They've had this discussion, and Clint promised to show up for two a year, which is more than a fair number of agents, so Coulson only brings it up here and there, never with real conviction. He's gotten as much from the archer as he can, and he knows it. Clint moves a piece across the board, moving his piece to the left again. Coulson adjusted the piece he had used second. "Check."

"Do you ever feel like our lives are just like a game of chess, Coulson?" Clint asked, in lieu of moving his pieces again.

"In a way I suppose. A collection of pieces, each with their own talents and abilities, all moving together to work towards a larger goal, it does kind sound like S.H.I.E.L.D, doesn't it? How very-"

"What? No! Christ, Coulson, get your stupid optimism out of here! I meant this game in particular- Repetitive and hopeless, each one of us chasing a goal we will almost achieve, only to have it ripped away from us at the last minute, in desperate need of a change to our status quo." Coulson looked up.

"If you keep this up, I might have to force you to actually go to more psych evals more regularly, you… you pessimist, Barton." Clint snorted and moved his piece. Coulson snorted and moved his piece again.

"You know I'm just bored, Phil." Clint flicked one of his captured pawns across the table, so it landed precisely on top of the line that Coulson was lowering his pen to. Coulson cast an unamused look on the younger field agent. He opened his mouth with a retort when the door flew open. A younger Asian female agent stormed into the office, short black hair in a bob-cut falling around her face. A junior agent's badge was on her shoulder, and she had an overflowing manila file in her arms.

"Agent Coulson and Agent Barton?" She asked, clearly out of breath yet still somehow composed. Coulson was already rising from his seat. He gave a little start, but Clint knew from almost a year of working with the man why. The words gently rested against the back of his neck, a black color. _Agent Coulson and Agent Barton?_ They ask Coulson, spoken by someone unseen. Phil had shown Clint after they had worked together for a couple of months when they were awaiting an evac out of India and were both only kind of sober. Clint knows he hears the words all the time, but he hopes for his friend's sake that one day the right person will say those words, and soon. Coulson's always been a bit of a romantic, and if anyone deserved to find his soulmate, it was him.

Clint's words are easier. They're lavender, on his stomach, next to his navel._ Hello Sir, what can I get for you? The special today is pie._

"That would be correct, Agent…?" He asked. The woman gives no reaction to those words, so Clint assumes whoever Coulson's soulmate is, it isn't her. He doesn't miss the small way Coulson's shoulders sag for a moment before he composes himself again.

"May. Agent Melinda May, but proper introductions are going to have to wait. Fury wants you in his office." She handed the file to Coulson, and they were heading out the door at a furious fast-walk pace. Just a moment later, Clint was bouncing off the couch and following them. Coulson was already flipping through the file as Clint was catching up, a concerned look on his face. He turned to look at the archer.

"Well, you said you wanted something interesting. This case is… definitely interesting." They rounded a corner, heading into a larger, more crowded hallway.

"I said I was bored. I was going to lead into, hey we should take a couple of days off and go upstate, or go do something fun together, or when you said no, I was going to go off with my old Russian friend, something off the books, lend her a hand. Not… get wrapped up in another paperwork filed op before we can even finish our chess game. You and I have a very different definition of interesting, I think." Agent May raised a single eyebrow in surprise, mouthing _old Russian friend_ to herself. They rounded another corner, heading into an elevator. No one else got in, and Coulson turned to Clint.

"I think you and I will both be interested in this one. It's an 0-8-4 that turned appeared in Upstate New York." His eyes flick down to the paper. "The eyewitnesses, a family of three and a trucker who was passing by say that there was a flash of green light that overwhelmed their sight, and then a blue…" He pauses as the elevator door opens on a floor other than their destinations, but Agent May raised a hand to stop them and pointed to the illuminated button indicating they were headed to the floor where they had executive offices. The agents stepped back, and the doors swung shut. "Anyways, the witnesses all say that there was what is being called a blue wormhole in the sky, and a something huge came crashing through it. The trucker thinks it's a plane, the parents are calling it a UFO, but the most interesting testimony is the one the 13-year-old boy gave." The elevator swings open.

"Alright, I'll admit this is interesting. What gives? Why's this kid's testimony so interesting.?"

"Well, his parents immediately fled the scene after out 0-8-4 appeared, but he didn't. He says he saw two figures come out of the plane, fighting each other. One could make objects float and threw them at the other, who shaped the futuristic red and gold armor he was wearing to create a shield to block the flying objects. At which point the first person lifted the ground he stood on and flew back through the portal, and the armor-clad man flew back through after him. The 'wormhole'" Coulson made air quotes around the word "Closed after they both left." They entered Fury's office, only to see him locked in a debate with one of the higher-ups, so they headed to one of the couches. Agent May followed them, although Clint wasn't quite sure why, at this point.

"No offense Coulson, but this sounds like maybe the kid hit his head too hard or something, I don't know, or maybe he's making shit up."

"Hunks of metal can fall from a wormhole in the sky, but this is where you draw the line?" Agent May raised an eyebrow at the bow-wielding agent, who shrugged.

"Well, here's the thing Barton, there are objects from one side of a clearing that have been scattered about, a large chunk of ground missing from one spot, and a pair of strange shaped footprints that had particles found in them that have the S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists freaking out, because as it says in this… large portion of the dossier by the scientists, they are gold-titanium-vibranium nanites, and there is no one alive who can even make a sustainable alloy of the three, much less make actual nanites with them, as apparently they are but a theoretical… tiny… robot… at this point." Coulson flipped through several pages of what looked like scientist scrawl.

"I assume you're paraphrasing and translating from scientist back to English?" Clint smirked.

"The lab techs are… very excited about the possibilities this offers, yes." Coulson turned four more pages in the file in one go. "Very… very excited." Agent May snorted.

"You haven't been down there today, have you. It's like Christmas came early in there. Either that or someone released a small demon that we will find later again, but I'm assuming it's the first." She stated.

"Always better when the labs aren't devolving into a circle of hell, isn't it?" Coulson turned to the short woman.

"That is always better." The voice of Junior Director Fury cuts in and all three agents turn to face him. "The last time I saw a scientist this incoherent, he was about to perform an autopsy on a dead extraterrestrial." Clint wants that story.

"This when there was the altercation with the Kree, Skrulls, and Carol over the tesseract, Sir?" Coulson asks. Fury gives a nod, and now Clint really wants that story.

"Our scientists are currently concluding that whatever that wormhole thing was, it has dropped us a collection of technology from the future. They can't give me dates, but they estimate anywhere from 30 to 50 years ahead of us. That's not even the really curious stuff though." The Junior Director goes on. Clint tries really hard not to stare at the eye-patch, but then it just feels like he's staring at Fury, and suddenly he wants to look away. He doesn't know where to look, so now Clint is looking at the wall behind the bald man, trying to appear like he was looking at the Junior Director. "Am I boring you, Agent Barton?" The one-eyed-man asked.

"No, sir."

"Then what seems to be the problem, Agent Barton?"

"Sir… I just- I don't know where to look. On your face, Sir." Clint stammers out. He hears Agent May give a soft snort, and he can feel Coulson's patented disappointed glare on his back.

"At my face, Agent Barton. Just like you would any other agent." Clint forced back the embarrassed flush to stay just below the surface of his skin,

"Yes, sir." He felt like he should salute or something.

"Any more stupid questions from the peanut gallery or may I continue? Good. Our agents who first arrived on the scene identified the 0-8-4 as a plane and attempted to board from the only door visible, 5 feet above the ground on the side. The plane lowered a ramp for them when they approached, it slid right out onto the ground by their feet. They attempted to approach the aircraft but were rebuffed when a voice from the plane informed them that only members of S.H.I.E.L.D. or members of the 'Avengers Initiative'. I sent Agent Garret out with a S.T.R.I.K.E. team, but they were unable to enter. One of his younger agents grew frustrated upon their third attempt to enter anywhere else and kicked the hull of the plane. Upon his doing so, the ramp dropped the ground out from under him, and the plane itself, in what is described as a female Irish accent, told him that A: the plane felt that behavior was quite rude, and B: All associated agents were no longer permitted nearby. It has since not allowed any agent nearby. We were hoping that you would have better luck, Agent Coulson." Fury finished. Coulson took a second file that Fury offered him, giving him a small nod of acknowledgment.

"I would like to take a team of agents. Green, Junior agents, I think. People with no other loyalties, something smells fishy about this – why claim S.H.I.E.L.D. members can board, but not let them on board? Maybe green agents will be able to enter since they're the core of S.H.I.E.L.D." Coulson added.

"Buncha green optimists, you mean." Clint snorts.

"A bunch of people who still believe in the idea of S.H.I.E.L.D. as a shield, people who still want to uphold justice and protect the people."

"That's… a nice idea." Agent May chimed in quietly.

"What do you need, Coulson?" Fury asked.

"I want to take Agents May and Barton with me, as well as a diplomatically inclined agent – someone who's still inclined to do whatever crazy this job offers, someone who is willing to discuss diplomacy with an airplane if we need to. I want a lab tech, someone who is clear for the field and combat, we don't know what is inside of the plane. They don't have to be an expert in any particular field, but someone who can prepare samples for the lab. I want a mechanic, someone who helped build the new mobile command centers, someone who knows planes." Coulson ticked fingers off as he went through what his goals. Fury crossed the table to his desk, a pulled a big binder out and flipped through it, heavy papers thumping as they blew passed, flipping over. He stopped on another page.

"Your diplomat can be Agent Hill, she has great marks under people skills, and all of her instructors said she was ready to deal with the crazier side of our organization." Coulson nods, and May punched something in on her pager. "For lab tech, we have Agent Morse, a biochemist who has been sending me upwards of a hundred complaints because she wants to be in the field, desperate for a mission that will let her prove herself." Fury pulls another pager out, putting something into it. He flips his hands through the binder again. "Your mechanic is Agent Mackenzie; he was studying under the man who was head mechanic on the first mobile command." Coulson uses his pager this time. Agent May stood up and headed for the door.

"I'm going to go requisition a quin-jet, so it'll be wheels up in 30 minutes. You and your team better met me in the hanger, or I'll leave you here." May turned and walked out, back straight like she was the strongest woman in the room. Clint wasn't sure she wasn't.

o – o – o – o

Clint ducked into the labs, and a quick look around revealed that the labs were, in fact, a giant, chaotic mess. He took one look at all the flashing lights and moving scientists, and he immediately regretted the decision to come down to the lab to pick up their biochemist. There was an explosion, and a handful of shrieks and Clint reached up and turned his hearing aids off, relishing in the quiet peace it brought him.

Clint made his way to the desk at the front of the lab. Stopping in front of it, the man who was supposed to be keeping track of which scientist was where was leaning back appearing to be locked in conversation with someone else. His head was turned away, and Clint still had his hearing aids off, so the topic of conversation escaped him. He took a moment to compose himself before he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me?" He asked, and the desk tech turned to face him. He had a strange look on his face, so Clint assumed that his voice still sounded a little strange without his hearing aids to help him. He had missed his last couple of speech therapy appointments due to a mission that went sideways, and he hadn't had time to make them up yet. The lab tech turned a deadpan glare on.

"Oh hell-. What -an we d- f-r y-u, A ge nt B ar t on?" Clint internally cringed as he watched the lab tech talk with what was clearly a strong accent, and then the angry way he pronounced every syllable of his name, Clint assumed someone had mentioned that he was notorious in the labs.

"I'm here to see Agent Morse? Agent Coulson has asked her to join a team he's putting together for a special op." The lab tech raised an eyebrow but leaned over and called over his shoulder into the uncaring void of chaos. They waited for a moment, Clint tapping his foot against the ground a bit, the silence a little strange after having had his hearing aids on for several days straight leading up to this but unwilling to suffer the headache the labs can cause. The desk tech takes another minute of the foot-tapping before calling something else over his shoulder. This time he must have gotten a satisfactory response because he pulls a file out of a cabinet to his left and passes it to Clint.

A quick peek down at the file shows Clint that he is holding Agent Morse's personal file, and he casts a small nod of thanks to the desk tech before a young, fit blonde woman can be seen hurrying between other scientists, removing the lab coat from her practical top and jeans as she waves at the entrance. She makes her way over to Clint, stopping only to hang the sterile white coat up on a rack of many similar coats.

"Are you Agent Morse?" Clint asked. The blonde woman nods while she says something to the man working the desk. "Mind if we talk outside? It's really loud in here." He flicks his hearing aids on, barely letting a blink show as a visible outlet of the cacophony of sounds that assault his mind all at once.

"Not one bit." Morse agrees and opens the lab door. They head out into the hallway, where Clint leans against a wall, relishing the more peaceful quite the soundproofed wall brings. "So, you wanted to see me?" Clint nodded in response.

"Agent Coulson would like you to a temporary team for an op? There's an 0-8-4 that we're being called to investigate, and we'd like to take someone who knows how to prep samples with us." The scientist blinked in surprise. Then she paused for a moment.

"Wait, you're serious? I can't believe it! I have been waiting for an assignment for the longest time, of course, I'm interested! When is it?" Agent Morse was visibly calm, but her voice was just radiating excitement.

"Meet in the hanger ASAP, Agent May has ordered wheels up in 20."

"Alright! Right away, I'm going to swing by the lockers to pick up my gear."

"Mind if I tag along Agent Morse? I need to make a pit stop as well." Clint started walking towards where the weaponry lockers, catching Agent Morse's nod of agreement in the corner of his eye.

"Of course, and please, call me Bobbi."

o – o – o – o

_Phil Coulson_

Phil's head was full of a bubbling mess of thoughts as he approached the accounting portion of the Triskelion. The first and foremost thing in his mind was the thoughts of having to navigate negotiating with a _talking plane_. It was certainly nothing like anything else Phil had ever done before with S.H.I.E.L.D. before. It thrilled him.

Phil had joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because it was Captain America's legacy, but also because he wanted to follow in the old American hero's footstep, to become a shield to protect the people from the strangeness of the world. The weirdness that surrounded his job was… weird yes, but at the same time it invigorated him, it filled him with a feeling that he had done something good in the world. It was fulfilling, dealing with everything that the military couldn't.

He entered the entrance of accounting, and approached the front desk, pushing all his other thoughts to the back of his mind, especially the ones about Agent May and the words on his neck.

"Excuse me, I'm here to meet with an Agent Hill? She's been assigned to my task force temporarily. Orders from Junior Director Fury himself." The woman behind the desk looked up at him.

"Third desk on the right next to the wall. You can't miss her; she's got short black hair." The desk worked went back to his laptop. Phil followed the directions and found himself at a pristinely organized desk with a woman checking some numbers on what looked like a budgeting sheet. He cleared his throat.

"Agent Hill, I assume? I have to say, this is a neatly organized desk, a real rarity around these parts." That got a small snort out of the woman as she looked up.

"You assume correctly. What brings someone from STRIKE down here to our humble little neat desks?" She counters.

"I'm Agent Coulson. I've been assigned with running a small taskforce for a peculiar op, and you were recommended for the team by an old classmate from the Academy." She looked up, confusion covering her face.

"Really? Why? I was hardly the top of my class for the field, and I always intended to become an Agent's handler, not the agent myself. I prefer to use words over weapons." Agent Hill spoke clearly, even as she set her pen aside and moved the paper she had been overlooking onto what appeared to be a pile of completed forms.

"You were recommended exactly because as you put it, you prefer to use words over weapons. The situation my team is being called into is quite unusual, and we need someone who is willing and able to talk negotiations while still being flexible. Agent May assured me that was the case for you." This garnered a snort from the woman.

"Melinda. Of course." She stood up. "I'm not opposed to going into the field temporarily, but I'm going to need all the info on the situation beforehand, and I should warn you that I'm only a so-so shot." Agent Hill offered her hand to Phil, and they shook on the deal.

"Glad to have you aboard, Agent Hill. Let's walk and talk, shall we?" He asked and handed her the file on the 0-8-4 as they headed out the door.

o – o – o – o

_Melinda May_

After the meeting in Fury's office, Melinda headed out first. She had to make a stop in the administrative offices before heading down to the hangar. Rounding a corner, she pushed the door marked as Agent Assignments on the largest administrative floor.

"Is this where I need to be to file an Agent Transfer Report?" She asks a tall white woman surrounded by boxes of papers, and stacks of unfiled sheets. The woman looks up, seemingly surprised at being addressed.

"That would be correct, Agent…?" The woman looked at Melinda from over her should, not turning in her chair from her desk. Melinda rubbed her shoulder on autopilot as she responded.

"Agent Melinda May, Ma'am. I'm going to need 6 total Agent Transfer Reports, and then there is an urgent mission, we only have half an hour to deal with the paperwork and requisition a plane." In actuality, Melinda had never done an 0-8-4 run before, she had no idea how urgent it was, but she didn't have the patience for more than maybe 15 minutes of paperwork, so now it was an urgent mission with a deadline she set herself. She had a deep suspicion that neither Agent Coulson (picking up related case files) or Agent Barton (Stopping at equipment lockers) would stop into paperwork, so Melinda just decided to do it for the whole team.

The paper worker sighed and pointed to a box to the left of her chair, by the leg of her desk.

"Blank copies of form 1-3A can be found in there. When done, please leave the white pages in the tray by the door labeled 1-3A, the yellow pages are yours to keep." With that, the taller woman bent back over whatever she had been doing before, and Melinda wove around her chair to pick out six copies of the aforementioned forms. She grabbed in pen from off the ground next to the box and made her way to a chair in the corner and filed each sheet out with basic information for each agent – name, rank, current department, the reason for transfer, new department each had clear blanks. Melinda marked Junior Director Fury as the agent who ordered the transfer for each, ripped the white pages off the top of the yellow pages below, where they had absorbed markings from the pressure applied to the white, separating the two.

Melinda dropped the white pages in the tray that was marked with the form number and looked through the yellow sheets. She took Agent Mackenzie's form in her left hand, and she pocketed the others. She entered the elevator, pushing the button for the airplane hangar, and an agent she recognized from the academy – Agent Garrett, perhaps? She didn't remember liking him, so Melinda inclined her head in response to his wave, before pulling the rest of her yellows out of her pocket and smoothing them over, pretending to read through a series of transfer orders.

Finally, the elevator door beeped, and Melinda stepped out of the elevator into the hanger, ignoring Garrett's wave goodbye. She folded the five transfer orders up again and took a right into the engineer break room, the one transfer from for Agent Mackenzie in her hand again. She stepped into the room, and it felt like every eye in there flew to the yellow sheet in her hand. Melinda cleared her throat self-consciously.

"Agent Mackenzie? Orders from above, a temp team is being assembled." She spoke, and the whole room was quiet as taller, African American young man made his way over, she handed him both the redacted copy of the mission file she had and his yellow slip. As he read through it, she checked her watch – still ten minutes until her wheels-up time. She turned to a mechanic on the left. "We'll also need to requisition a plane for 6 Agents, for a two-day time period, with the possibility of return a day early." The agent nodded and went to go get a form.

"Alright, we'll get everything all nice and ready for you, we just need your signature here, Ma'am." A form was passed to her, and Melinda scrawled her signature on the appropriate line. The agent who took the sheet turned to Agent Mackenzie.

"Mack, apparently your team is taking…" He checked the form again "Jet 4-Q-3, I assume you can find that on your own?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. See you guys when I get back." Agent Mackenzie grabbed a bag from a locker on the wall, and he headed towards the door. "Just this way, Agent…"

"Agent Melinda May, thank you, Agent Mackenzie," Melinda commented as he held the door for her, and she ducked through, and they headed over to the plane.

"Please, just call me Mack, everyone does."

"Then just call me May, the only person who calls me Melinda is my mother." Mack gave a good-natured chuckle at that, and May sent him a smile in return. "Get ready Mack, wheels up in…" Melinda checked her watch, "7 minutes, and Agent Coulson, who's leading the team, plans to do a formal debrief in the air." She headed over to the cockpit and began to boot up the plane systems.

Agent Coulson arrived 4 minutes later with another black-haired female agent who Melinda assumed was Agent Hill, and the two of them set a stack of files on an open chair before each introducing themselves to Mack.

Agents Barton and Morse arrive with one minute until go time, so they quickly stashed the five bags (Melinda thanked them for grabbing hers when she spotted it) under the seats, and everyone buckled in as Melinda fired up the engine, closed the bay door, and their plane took off, flying out through the S.H.I.E.L.D hangar doors, out from the Triskelion into the sky, where Melinda planned a gentle but quick course towards Upstate New York.

They all took turns introducing themselves, (Agent Morse wanted to be called Bobbi and Agent Barton simply said to call him Clint, titles were to fancy) and then Agents Coulson and Hill passed out the similar case files as Clint handled the brief for those who had missed Fury's, and then they made their plan of 'attack'.

o – o – o – o

**Ok so like, that happened, I guess. Wow then. Expect chapter 2… at some point. This story will be a second priority to the other story I have in progress, but I just wanted a silly, lighthearted story about the avengers in a personalized Helicarrier flying around, chilling out, and getting along man.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I wrote this on a plane.**

**/hah coincidence/**

**o – o – o – o**

**Chapter 2**

_**In Which Maria Befriends an Irish Plane, and Everyone Makes a Choice**_

**o – o – o – o**

_11:00 am, July 20__th__, 1998_

_Maria Hill_

Maria was having a strange couple of days. Really, her weekend had started out as an administrative nightmare. She had been planning to stay in bed all day Saturday, but at eight thirty in the morning she had gotten a call – a shipment of classified documents from the playground had gone missing in action, and some of the paperwork facilitating the transfer had passed through her department, so they needed her to come in. She had spent her whole weekend inside her office, covering for her co-workers who were assigned to go out and pick up the missing documents from where they had ended up. (Vienna.) Which was why, in her 39th hour since she last slept, (She had fallen asleep on her desk in the early hours of Sunday morning) when Phil Coulson offered her an out from the office, she had put up only a token amount of resistance. It had all been symbolic, no more and no less was expected of her.

Honestly, the whole thing had surprised Maria. No one had invited her into the field in a very long time, not since her first days out of the academy. It made more sense to her once she learned that it was by May's recommendation. The two women had been in the academy at the same time and had shared several classes. In the end, May had been Maria's roommate for their final year. They had planned to work together after graduation, but after complications on their first mission, Maria had chosen to become a handler instead, and had gone into administration to free up the time to take those classes on the side.

At first, May had tried to get Melinda back into the field, but eventually had respected that Maria felt more at home making change with her words than by sneaking around. The two women still respected each other, but they had drifted apart. Maria wouldn't deny that a warm happiness bloomed in her stomach that she was still the one to whom May's mind jumped for diplomacy, although this was certainly the strangest mission she'd ever taken.

"We're landing in five minutes, so whatever strange pre-mission routine you have developed should begin now." May's voice sounded wary, yet still teasing as she mentioned pre-mission routines. Maria briefly wondered what the story behind that was. She didn't have a routine, so she settled for a pair of deep breaths before she watched her temporary teammates.

Agent Coulson was reading through the brief one more time, marking things in with a black pen. Agent Barton was next to him, a bow down across his lap. The archer was stringing his weapon with meticulous care, humming a song Maria didn't recognize under his breath. Agent Morse was adjusting the combat gear she had on, hooking something out of Maria's sight onto a carabineer. Agent Mackenzie had his handgun in his palm and was turning it over upon itself several times.

"Alright everyone, when we arrive, Agent May is going to drop us off and then go find somewhere clear where she can park the plane without being in the way. I'll handle the other S.H.I.E.L.D agents already on sight. Agent Mackenzie, your job is to figure out whatever you can about the 0-8-4 plane – purpose, features, anything you can from the outside. As well, your job is to see if you can trigger the ramp should Agent Hill need you to."

"Yes sir." The mechanic nodded.

"Agent Hill, do what I'm told you do best. The door is on the east side of the plane, see if you can talk it into letting us in. The only advice I can give you is to be civil to it and to not assault the plane, it did not take kindly to being threatened or being kicked."

"Sir, you do mean negotiate with whoever is inside the plan, right?" Maria asked, hoping her confusion would not show on her face.

"While that is possible, nothing inside the plane is showing up on any heat seeking vision or anything – to the best of our knowledge, the plan is empty." Maria blinked and took a moment to readjust her plan, if she was negotiating with the plane.

"Agent Morse," Agent Coulson continued, "Once Agent Hill does her job, your job is to take samples from the inside of the plane or do whatever you think you need to do. You can have Agent Hill to help you. Agent Barton will accompany you to watch your back, as well as to map the structure. Are we all clear here?" Agent Coulson cast his eyes around at the other agents, who all responded with varying versions of yes sir.

o – o – o – o

_Barbara 'Bobbi' Morse_

Bobbi had imagined this moment hundreds of times – ever since she started taking field ops classes during her days off from work in the lab, nearly two years ago. She stepped of the plane, and into her first day in the field. Whenever Bobbi had imagined it, the moment had including a bubbling excitement, a rush of energy. That wasn't how she felt, though. In place of what she had expected, there was only an overwhelming calm, as Bobbi fell into the moment.

"Garrett!" Agent Coulson called, waving to one of the other agents. Bobbi followed Agent Morse as Agent Coulson broke off with from them to head over to whoever he had called out to. Together with Agent Barton, the three of them headed to the east side of the plane, while Agent Mackenzie headed to get a closer look at the 0-8-4 near where they landed. Up close, it was suddenly clear just how big the plane was, larger by a huge margin than any Bobbi had ever seen in her life. It took them a solid fifteen minutes to reach from the south side where they landed the plane to the door, which was no pretty clearly the entrance to a hangar bay, rather than a doorway, just due to the sheer size of the thing.

"That's a big door." Agent Barton muttered with a whistle. Agent Hill nodded and cleared the throat, attracting the attention of a collection of other agents nearby, who looked over at them. Bobbi could feel their glares boring into her back, but she wasn't sure why.

"Um, excuse me? Ms.… uh, plane? Can I speak with you?" Agent Hill called out, her expression showing for just a moment how silly she thought she sounded. Bobbi was inclined to agree that it sounded strange, but if Bobbi also really wanted inside this plane, it looked incredibly cool and futuristic from the outside, what with the four huge round cylinders jutting out from the sides of the 0-8-4. Just the one Bobbi could see had a light blue dome inside of it, and the whole thing had made itself noteworthy when it had pinged her radioactivity scanner when they walked by as a source of Gamma Radiation, of all things.

"Of course. And might I say, it is a pleasure to meet someone civil." Bobbi jumped a little as a female voice with a light Irish accent responded to Agent Hill. Whatever Bobbi had expected, she had thought the plane would sound different. Almost definitely a male. Surprise lit up Agent Hill's eyes for just a moment, but like the excellent diplomat she clearly is, the dark-haired woman shoved the surprise away so quickly Bobbi barely caught it. Apparently, so did the plane. "I'm sorry, did I surprise you? I didn't mean to!" The plane exclaimed, startlingly sincire.

"No, not at all. I've just never negotiated with a talking plane before." Agent Hill relaxed a little before she responded. There was a quite pause.

"If you don't mind me asking, what year is it?" The plane asked. Agent Barton gave a confused shrug.

"It's 1998, Ms." He chimed in, following Agent Hill's lead.

"Then I expect you definitely aren't used to speaking to a plane." There was good humor in the plane's response, and Agent Barton gave a good-natured chuckle.

"Do you mind if I ask a question of my own, Ms.?" Agent Hill countered.

"Of course, ask away!"

"To whom, am I speaking?" Agent Hill asked.

"My name is F.R.I.D.A.Y, which stands for Friendly Replacement Intelligent Digital Assistant Youth. I am an artificial intelligence designed to run the planes and all other vehicles belonging to the Avengers Initiative, including this personalized 2nd Gen Helicarrier which served as a mobile base for the Avengers to work out of before it became obsolete with the development of 3rd Gen Helicarriers." Absolutely none of what F.R.I.D.A.Y. had said made sense to Bobbi, but Agent Hill was nodding like it made sense to her, and Agent Barton had made a small noise when the Avengers had been mentioned.

"It's a pleasure to meet you F.R.I.D.A.Y, my name is Agent Maria Hill with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Nice to meet you too, Agent Hill!" F.R.I.D.A.Y chirped back.

"Do you mind answering some questions? It's standard procedure for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Not at all! I've probably been marked as an 0-8-4, haven't I?" Agent Hill looked taken aback.

"How do you know about that?" She asked. Agent Barton cleared his throat.

"The Avengers Initiative is a planned specialized team that as off now, has been proposed as an offshoot of S.H.I.E.L.D." He clarified.

"And as an Artificial Intelligence, or AI, right? She'd have access to at least the data banks of the Initiative that created her, and probably the S.H.I.E.L.D. ones through that, at least if AI runs the way the techies in the labs theorize it does." Bobbi chimed in.

"You guys spend your free time theorizing about AI in the labs?" Agent Barton looked at her.

"Why do you think I was so desperate to leave?' He asked and got a snort from Agent Barton. Agent Hill nodded.

"Anyways, now that my teammates have cleared that up for me, why exactly are you here, F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

"The Avengers were engaged in a battle with a foe who was planning to attack their current Helicarrier, which also carries noncombatant consultants and the civilian families of the Avengers, so they decided to use the old one as a decoy to lead the foe towards it, before sending the current one into hiding. Their foe, known as Ebony Maw, created the wormhole upon discovering the fake so that it could not happen again. The avenger who deceived him, Iron Man, had to leave this behind in order to make it home to his family. He left me with the instructions to tell you that this was, and I quote, 'A gift to the Avengers of the future long passed by, both the plane and the information. Use it to make different, new mistakes.'" F.R.I.D.A.Y finished, and my lips quirked upwards into a smile. I decided I liked this Iron Man, whoever he was. Agent Hill made a noise of comprehension, and Agent Barton made a small 'huh' noise.

"I'm going to go get Coulson, I think this would interest him." Is all the explanation Agent Barton gives before he vanishes.

o – o – o – o

_Clint Barton_

Agent Hill and Bobbi, as she had asked to be called, were making small talk with F.R.I.D.A.Y, getting to know the quirky AI when he & Coulson returned, with Agents Mackenzie & May trailing behind them. The team leader cleared his throat.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, right? I have a handful of questions myself for you. My name is Agent Phil Coulson, do you mind if I ask them?"

"Not at all, Agent, fire away."

"When you say Avengers, are you referring to members of the Avengers Initiative as proposed by Junior Director Fury?"

"Indeed I am."

"Is the… Helicarrier, you called it? Is it still capable of flight?"

"Indeed, it is, although a handful of extra systems have begun to deteriorate."

"This Helicarrier is for the use of the Avengers Initiative, right?"

"And them exclusively!" Friday chirped, but there was a threat there.

"About three months ago I was charged with the duty of assembling a team to become the avengers, and as of about 4 minutes ago, I got confirmation from Junior Director Fury. Assembling the team is now my First Priority, and for the time being, those with me have been transferred to the first Avengers team. Do you mind if we come aboard?" Agent Coulson asked F.R.I.D.A.Y, a small smug look on his face.

"I'll have to scan everyone as they board, but as long as your team exclusively boards, it shouldn't be an issue." Friday responded, and the bay door lowered smoothly, revealing a mostly white room with machinery all along the side, full of vehicles. "One at a time, please." She asked. Coulson went first, heading up the ramp. A blue light was cast from the ceiling, and it slid across Coulson, enveloping him. Once it retracted, Coulson took a tentative step forward, and, when nothing happened, headed in and off to the side. "Next!" F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice called out.

"I guess that's me." Clint stepped forward and headed up the ramp. The blue light washed over him, on all four sides, but he felt nothing. He stepped forward as well, over to where Coulson was. F.R.I.D.A.Y. called out again, and Agent May stepped forward. Clint turned to Coulson.

"You actually got that authorization?" The archer asked.

"Yeah, I wouldn't put this crazy future jet to have unbeatable lie detectors. I mean, it apparently decided weather or not to trust us aboard based on the findings of… blue light, so I've decided to turn off my crazy meter for the foreseeable future." Clint snorted in response.

"I'm willing to bet she has access to profiles of from the future and decided based on that." Agent May stepped forward and joined them, and Agent Hill answered F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s call for the next agent to step forward. Coulson turned to the Asian agent.

"Do you think you can fly this thing if we get it sky worthy?" He asked her.

"Sky worthy?" Clint question, and jabbed an elbow into Coulson's side playfully. The other agents ignored his questioning contribution.

"I can't be sure until I see the cockpit, but I imagine I should be able to. I'm also willing to believe that if I can't the autopilot on this is probably able to fly the plane entirely on its own if needs to, since it is capable of independent thought and all." Agent May pointed out, and ok, that was a fair point. Agent Hill joined them, and Agent Morse stepped up to the entrance.

"I didn't know I was signing up for a team when I signed onto the op." The taller woman commented. Agent May winced.

"Sorry about that. It was all or nothing with Junior Director Fury. You're welcome to transfer out once we get back to the triskelion. Fury was worried that if we didn't establish a team right away, once someone got on board, they would attempt to re-purpose this plane, and he's been having some trouble getting the Initiative off the ground, so this might be it's one big chance. I wanted to ask you to stay on with me, actually, and help me run back end for this team from the plane, once we get it functioning as a mobile HQ again." Agent Hill blinked in surprised.

"I… I'll think about it. It was not the direction I saw my career going in, but I don't know that it sounds like a bad direction." Agent Hill stated.

"That's all I ask. And the offer remains open, you can choose to stay on and leave later, if that's what you want. It's not a one-time choice option. You can also leave and come back, if you would rather do that." Coulson stated, and she nodded in response.

"Thanks." Agent Hill added as Agent Morse came over.

"Isn't this so cool? I mean, it's like something straight out of a sci-fi novel!" The blonde exclaimed. Coulson nodded his agreement.

"You're not wrong, Agent Morse." Agent Hill added. Agent Morse made a face.

"Please, call me Bobbi. We're teammates, right? There's no need to be so formal."

"Then call me Clint." Clint added, and Bobbi turned to him, a smile on her face.

"Call me Phil, or Coulson, either works." Coulson added.

"My friends all call me Mack." Agent Mackenzie joined them, and the hull close behind.

"Maria." Agent Hill added.

"Call me May, only my mother calls me Melinda."

Having re-introduced themselves, they headed into the ship.

"I'm sorry I signed you up for this team without asking you all first, Junior Director Fury was worried the WSC would try to take the plane and either disassemble it or weaponize it if we didn't put Avengers on it right away. If you want off the team, just let me know, and we can find someone to fill out the team, but as of right now you all have important roles in the Avengers Initiative." A chorus of agreements. "Now, let's see if May can figure out how to fly this plane."

o – o – o – o

_Alphonso 'Mack' Mackenzie_

As he sits down for takeoff, Mack picks a seat next to one of the windows. There's no seat belt to buckle in, so he just grips the arm rest and watches as the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents all scamper to get away from the plane and behind the take-off perimeter that has been established. As he watches, the downward facing blue circles begin to glow a brighter blue, and spin. They must be some sort of turbine, because just after that, they are propelled upwards and into the sky.

Mack is distantly aware of F.R.I.D.A.Y. giving piloting directions to May, but he is mostly absorbed with how smooth the take off is. The plane goes straight up, but there is barely any turbulence, as though it was just gliding through the air.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" He asks. "Are there blueprints of this plane anywhere around here?"

"Of course! Would you like to see them?"

"Yes please." Before he has even finished responding, the air in front of him shimmers with blue light, and blueprints of the plane come to life in front of him, made of solid air and light. If this is the future, sign Mack the hell up. As looks over the blueprints, he can see several labs and workshops, three rooms for storing computers, a large kitchen and dining room, one large communal space and several smaller ones scatter around, two rooms dedicated to gear storage and several others for storing 'classified or dangerous items', general supplies storage, an in-plane fuel station, several gyms, and more quarters than he can count.

Before he even realizes it, Mack has decided that staying on this plane, with this team, is the path he wants to take his life down. Maybe he'll even find the other side of one of his marks if he goes out rather than staying in the shop. A pretty straightforward green _Hello there handsome_ is on his left elbow, and what he has always considered more interesting, golden _Pon tus manos arriba, chico!_ decorated his ankle. He'd had a friend translate it for him, and it was a Spanish equivalent of 'put your hands in the air', and that certainly sounded like something that he would hear in the field.

Mack made his choice.

o – o – o – o

_Melinda May_

Flying the Helicarrier was unlike anything Melinda had ever done before in her life. The control room was large, with space for several pilots to control the various weapons systems, as well as several co-pilots, but those screens were dark now, and she sat in the pilot's seat at the front of the room, looking out a huge glass window.

In front of Melinda was a screen with the set flight path, set into a huge panel with multicolored buttons and switches. She had her hand on the stick that was used to steer the large plane, and she still marveled at how smoothly it obeyed her whims, even with its size. She had no doubt she could preform the most complicated maneuvers with the Helicarrier, even the ones should not have done in the plane that they flew over in.

If Melinda could, she would never fly another plane again – she wasn't sure she'd be able to after how easy this one was. It was intimidating, sure, with all it's bells and whistles, but she had a course set in and it pretty much flew itself, she was only steering at this point to enjoy the experience.

May made her choice.

o – o – o – o

_Barbara 'Bobbi' Morse_

As strange as today had been, Bobbi was still pretty sure it was one of the best day of her life. It was certainly one she had been imagining for what felt like a significant part of her life. The day she had her first field mission was right up there with the day she met her soulmate; _Hey there baby doll_; was scrolled across the middle of her thigh in lazy, grey scrawled script.

Maybe today hadn't gone any of the ways she'd ever expected it too, but it felt like it had gone even better. Bobbi still held that opinion when May's voice rang out across the intercom.

"If you would all gather at the table in the cockpit… room, we're 20 minutes from the Triskelion, where they've routed us. Coulson wants to talk about where we go from here." Bobbi got ready to head for the room they had mentioned – as soon as F.R.I.D.A.Y. had assured them it was safe to be up and about, everyone had split up to explore the hallways. Bobbi had gone to take the samples she had originally been tasked with gathering, although since F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been so forthcoming with information, she doubted she'd need them.

Bobbi packed the last of her supplies back in her lab bag, which she swung back over her shoulder across her torso, careful not to break any of the glass test tubes or beakers which now contained actual future dust.

When she arrived in the cockpit, May was already sitting at the table – Bobbi assumed she had put the plane on autopilot. Clint was next to her, pouring over what looked like a hand-drawn map of the Helicarrier. Maria sat opposite from Clint on the round table, on the phone with someone. She pulled the seat next to her out, and gestured for Bobbi to join her, which the blonde did. Coulson and Mack came in together a moment later.

"I see how it is Coulson. You leave me for someone else the first second you get." Clint put his hands over his heart and swooned dramatically, and the whole table laughed as Maria ended her call, a grin on her face.

"It's not like that, man. We just ran into each other on the way back." Mack shot back, settling on Bobbi's left. Coulson took the seat next to Clint.

"Well, here we are." Coulson started. "I won't ask if you've made up your mind yet, but know that you only have about 15 minutes left to decide if you want to stay or go." It had never really been a choice really, between going back to the labs or staying in the field.

Bobbi made her choice.

o – o – o – o

_Maria Hill_

"Well, here we are." Coulson spoke as Maria hung up on the phone call from administrations. "I won't ask if you've made up your mind yet but know that you only have about 15 minutes left to decide if you want to stay or go. If you decide to stay, here's the game plan. Upon arrival at the Triskelion, you have eight hours of time. Head home or your bunk and pack up whatever it is that you want to bring with you on the plane. I've been to see the quarters here on the Helicarrier and let me just say space is not a concern, each room is quite large. I should warn those of you staying in the bunks – that might be all of you, now that I think about it -" It wasn't. Maria had an apartment just outside of DC proper, but she wasn't super attached to it. "If you're staying in the bunks and choose to join the team, they will reassign your bunk if someone else needs the space."

"Thanks for the heads up." Mack intersected when Coulson paused for a moment.

"Once you bring your stuff to the Helicarrier, we'll sort out who's bunking where, but it looks like both Mack and Clint counted well over 50 dorms here, so I doubt that will be much of an issue. Anyways, the Helicarrier will leave for our first mission at 8:30 am sharp on July 22nd, and technically you all have until then to transfer on or off of it. Our first mission, which came in about five minutes ago from Fury himself, would be taking down a drug ring which is based out of the New Mexico desert." Clint gave a little start at that, which Maria saw in the corner of her eye, but from the smug grin Coulson passed Clint, she was sure it was an inside joke between the near legendary duo. Maria had to admit, doing something other than creating S.H.I.E.L.D red tape sounded appealing. A chance to make a difference with her own two hands, or her one mouth.

"Does this mean-" Clint started to say something, but Coulson shut him down with a glare.

"Time and place Barton, but yes. Anyways, until the program gets on it's feet, S.H.I.E.L.D plans to continue paying all members the salary they would be receiving pre-Avengers Initiative, but all food, board, and equipment will be covered by the avengers bankroll, which they will add to as we have successful missions and intel and items we bring back to S.H.I.E.L.D. As it is, the fund is significant, just due to the discoveries the labs have made with the little future tech they have managed to get ahold of." There were noises of comprehension around the table

"I'm going to make sure I'm there in case S.H.I.E.L.D. wants someone to manually land the plane." May stood and headed over to the control panel.

"When we disembark, Barton, you're with me." Coulson said to the archer on his left, who nodded. Maria looked around the strange team around her, and felt a grin touch her face.

Maria made her choice.

o – o – o – o

_Clint Barton_

There had never really been a choice, Clint thought. He was sticking beside Coulson for as long as they were both at S.H.I.E.L.D., no matter where that took them. Clint had found a mural of the Avengers on the wall of one of the more out of the way common rooms that he felt summarized them pretty well – it featured the words 'I'm with you until the end of the line'. And that was without taking into advantage what else was featured on the mural.

Front and center, silhouetted by yellow, was him, bow string draw at some unseen enemy. The mural proclaimed him 'Hawkeye', and it was clearly a portrait of the Avengers. He had yet to build up the courage to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y about it, but there was a man silhouetted by red who was totally covered in armor that matched the eyewitness report as to what 'Iron Man' looked like, and that was the name the mural assigned the figure as well.

Clint was really still processing really – he'd read the reports on the Avenger Initiative. It was a team of people who possessed special talents on the surface, but it was implied that it was team of superheroes with superhuman abilities. The idea that in any time, any world, he would be included in their numbers was… mind blowing. He'd seen Nat there as well, denoting her as 'The Black Widow'. Clint liked the idea of being a hero, of doing good in the world to make up for all the harm he did before he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. He thought Nat would as well.

Clint's thoughts were dragged back to the present as the plan landed, and he and Coulson made their way to the opposite end of the Helicarrier, to where the ramp they'd entered through. Now that he wasn't quite so overwhelmed, Clint could take a moment to appreciate all of the vehicles that were parked in the hangar of the plane. There were a pair of small boats in the back corner, and a small fleet of black vans branded with the eagle logo on their sides. There was an empty parking space they paced, and Clint noticed someone had branded it 'Lola'.

"Hey Coulson look, space for your car." He pointed out and got a laugh from the older man. The ramp down lowered, and Clint left the Helicarrier.

Clint had made his choice.

o – o – o – o

_Phil Coulson_

"That is a nice plane you've got here, the handful of pictures I got do not do it justice." Junior Director Fury stood on the outside of the plane, smirking at Phil.

"It's not my plane, Sir, it belongs to the Avenger Initiative." He responded with a matching grin, and Clint elbowed him in the side lightly. Phil tripped the archer in retaliation.

"Hey!" Clint went down as gracefully as he could without quite managing to catch himself. Really, messing with him was an artform.

"Good answer, Agent Coulson. I have basically repeated the same thing over and over again to the WSC for a good two hours now, so I hoped that would be your answer." Fury gestured with his hand towards Phil. "Walk with me. The very same WSC wants to speak with you about your plans for the team, and try to push you into following their agenda."

"Oh goody, agendas." Barton chimed in, inviting himself to walk with them. Fury rolled his eye, but was used to the way they came with each other at this point, or so Phil liked to think.

"Actually, Fury, while we're talking about future plans for the team, I picked the New Mexico op because while there the chances are high we'll run into one of the few enhanced individuals, lightly enhanced though she may be."

"I knew it!" Clint crows. Both Fury and Phil ignore him.

"You'd like to recruit her for the program." Fury guess right away. Coulson nodded. "What's the catch?" Fury continued.

"It's the Rogue Black Widow."

"Coulson, you have gone insane, haven't you."

o – o – o – o

** Wooooo! ****I wrote that in one sitting, I'm very proud of myself. Anyways, as always, I'll update this when I update it, but I do enjoy writing it. Next time we see who decided to stick around, (I bet you guys can guess-) and we go down to the American Southwest for their first operation as a team, and we see Clint make a pass at recruiting an old friend from his pre-shield days. **

**/It's not canon that the spy twins met before Clint joined S.H.I.E.L.D., but this an AU, I write my own canon/**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is several weeks later than I wanted to be, but I wanted it to be…better than the earlier drafts.**

**We won't talk about the earlier drafts.**

**Much of this was written on the train.**

**Huh. .-.**

**o – o – o – o **

**Chapter 3**

_**In Which They Possibly Recruit a Russian by Blowing Up Some Drugs**_

**o – o – o – o **

_2:00 pm, July 20__th__, 1998_

_Phil Coulson_

"It's the Rogue Black Widow."

"Coulson, you have gone insane, haven't you?" Nick Fury deadpanned at Phil, and Phil could feel the single eye eyeroll. Before he did anything, Phil threw his hand up over Clint's mouth before he could get out the snark Phil immediately knew was coming.

"With all due respect sir, I believe that she could be an invaluable asset, and ever since her defection from the KGB the only person she has shown any true loyalty to is already aboard this plane." He hesitantly lowered his hand as he threw a look a Barton, a silent warning to watch his tongue.

"I don't know Coulson, this is still a huge risk, put her on that plane and she could destroy everything about this program that we're just getting off the ground."

"She could do that from the ground as well. At least on the plane, we could keep an eye on her, and it's not like we're going to immediately trust her the way we would trust an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. who would come aboard." Phil countered.

"She's one of the deadliest people alive right now, are you sure we could stop her if she wanted to take you down?" Fury launched right back.

"With all due respect, I'm looking for an objection that I haven't yet anticipated. Besides, you put me in charge of the initiative, meaning that I have control over who I bring aboard the plan or not." Phil accepted a folder of paperwork from one of Fury's assistants, internally groaning about the sheer amount of paperwork that was in his future.

"Besides," Clint cut back in, "Nat's got red in her ledger, sure. She knows that the same way I do. We're not so different that way, and we both want to do good in the world to counter-balance that. If she has an opportunity to say, become a superhero and protect people, I think she would take it in a moment." He added. Phil was willing to buy that; Barton did know him better than anyone else. Judging by the look on Fury's face, the Junior Director was less so. However, in an attempt to cut off any WSC power grabs, the eye-patched man had handed any control over that decision over to Phil, meaning there was little he could do about it.

"Alright then Coulson. Just don't make me say I told you so." Fury turns and heads back to his office, his long black coat billowing behind him. He beckoned several of the free agents around him to follow him in a clear dismissal of Phil & Clint. Phil looked down at the overflowing file in his hands and gave a sigh.

"Clint, would you mind packing up our barrack for me? I'll do the office, but it looks like the red tape is going to keep me busy for a while." Phil asked, and not a hint of the groan or desperation in his voice was faked.

"Sure, enjoy your paper!" Clint stuck his tongue out as he headed towards the bunks.

o – o – o – o

_Clint Barton_

Clint headed up the stairs in the S.H.I.E.L.D dorms to the fourth floor – the elevator was broken again, as it always seemed to be. He was beginning to suspect that it was actually a secret conspiracy to force the desk agents to do some cardio. Although, now he'll never know, since he's moving out now. He sung open the heavy metal door on his floor and turned to the second apartment on the left. He and Phil had shared one ever since their first mission, as Phil's previous roommate, John Garrett, had moved out then. In the barracks no field agent is allowed to room alone, supposedly because of space. Clint still believed the real reason was medical refuses to give those who wish to escape them a place to hide.

He turned his key in the door lock, swinging it open and stepping into his apartment. It was small, with only four rooms. A kitchen living room that was mostly devoid of personal effects, and an equally lonely bathroom. They also had a bedroom each, where most of their personal objects were stashed. He looked over the kitchen and spotted a spare leaf of paper staring up at him from the kitchen counter that definitely wasn't there before. Picking it up, he blinked at the lazy scrawl in an old, familiar handwriting. The message was simple.

Hey Birdbrain, call me when you get this. I have a new project. :)

He actually gave a little chuckle at the smiley face his old friend had added and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Powering it on, he scrolled through his contacts until he found _miss murder twin_, dialing the number attached. The phone rang twice before someone picked up on the other side.

"Hey birdbrain, good to hear from you!" Nat's voice poured from the other side of the call.

"Why am I not surprised that you broke into Phil & I's highly secure S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment again?" Clint asked her good-naturedly.

"Because I've done it before and will do it again." The deadly assassin's voice gave the distinct impression that she was sticking out her tongue.

"I imagine you'll find that at least a little harder next time, we've been transferred." Clint deadpanned back at her.

"Wait, for real? Where to?"

"If I told you, that would take all the fun out of it. I have total faith you will find out soon though."

"Of course, you have faith, you've met me." Nat's voice was breathy as she spoke, and she had to pause for breath in between sentences.

"Nat, what's going on? Are you out of breath or have you been stabbed again?"

"Uh… the first one. In the middle of a fight here." Clint snorted at her response.

"I can call you back?"

"No, you probably won't. Besides, this is actually a good time."

"Nat, you and I have very different definitions of a good time."

"But! This fight is related to what I wanted to talk to you about. I've got a lead on the organization that helped move the Red Room that we were looking into together. They've got their fingers in a drug ring in-"

"New Mexico?" Clint interrupted her.

"Yes. I guess working with hundreds of computers lets you finally keep up with me, huh?"

"I always could. You'll never guess where my next mission is."

"New Mexico?" Natasha parroted back at Clint, doing a poor impression of his voice with hers.

"Yup! So please don't kill my teammates when we show up to take down the same drug ring as you. There's six of us in total, but two will probably run backend."

"I make no promises."

"Nat!"

"Fine. I promise to try not to kill them."

"Thank you. Anyways, we'll be there tomorrow, so if you want to get some hits in, be there or be square."

"You're such a dork." Nat hung up on him. Clint snorted, and placed his phone back into his pocket. From there, he turned and headed to a closet off to the side of the kitchen, and he swings the door open. From the top shelf Clint pulled down a stack of collapsed cardboard boxes from when he and Coulson moved in, and he re-assembled the one on top. From there he headed into the kitchen, packing up some of Coulson's decorative objects and the non-perishables such as the coffee beans.

o – o – o – o

_Mack Mackenzie_

Mack departed the plane not long after Agents Coulson & Barton did, although he was sidelined for a moment by the motorcycles in the corner. He spared a brief moment to consider how much Ruben would get a kick out of the sleek motors and shining silver paint jobs, though. He drifted over to check one out, running a hand along the handlebar. He was about one step from ducking down to see how the motor ran when a voice called out from behind him.

"Mack, right?" I turned around to face Agent Morse, who had bent over and was peering over my shoulder. "What's up? Sneaking a least peak before you leave, or are you deciding where to set up shop?" She asked as she shifted the bag of samples that hung over her shoulder, hiking them up again.

"Deciding if I want to bring my bike or trade up for one of these fancier ones." Mack responded good naturedly with a smile and a chuckle. She responded with a matching smile.

"I guess that means you're sticking around? That makes two of us then." Agent Morse smiled back at him.

"You decided to stick around, then?"

"Of course I did, are you kidding me?" Mack watched in amusement. Agent Morse was bouncing up and down practically like a little girl. "It was either this or going back to the labs, and I spent actual hours trying to get out of there. I'm sticking on the awesome crazy future plane." That got a laugh out of Mack.

"Well then, Lady Bobbi, shall we depart to begin our battle against the terrible foe of transfer paperwork?" Mack stepped away from the bike and offered an arm to the blonde woman.

"Indeed, we shall, Sir Mack." She placed her hand on his arm. The two of them headed out and down the hydraulically pressured ramp. Mack thought it was expressing a lot of self-control that he didn't stop to ogle that or the vehicles. He said something to the effect, and that got a laugh out of the blonde. When Mack and Agent Morse exited the plane, they entered into a mob of chaos and desk operatives.

"Agent Mackenzie, Agent Morse! Over here please, come over this way." A man called out to them and approached them. He was dressed in a neatly pressed black suit. He had a white shirt below it, and a neatly tied blue tie. "I'm Agent Calderon, formerly with Fury's office. Now I'm going to be the handler for Avengers Initiative, which you are both currently registered to work under. So, I have paperwork for you." He pulled a pair of yellow manila files from inside his coat, passing on to each of them.

Mack opened up the one that was handed to him, and inside of it he found several pages of familiar green paper. Transfer orders then, simply waiting for his signature on the lines. He quickly flicked through the five sheets of paper. After a quick skim showed that the papers would put him in the Avengers Initiative, he pulled the pen from the other side of the file, signing his name. After doing so, he looked at the other side of the file, and cringed.

"Hey Calderon, any way I can get a new picture taken for the profile? This one is… not flattering." He asked with a smirk.

"You'll have to file a F-37 to get it retaken." He took the signed file from Mack and accepted a second one from Agent Morse. As he turned and walked away, he called over his shoulder in a clipped tone of voice, "And it's Agent Calderon to you, Agent Mackenzie." Mack made a face at Agent Morse, who gave a small, bright laugh.

"Well then, I shall see you around, dear Lady Bobbi?" Mack hugged Bobbi goodbye, and she hugged him back while giggling.

"I shall return with the treasures of my stuff, Sir Mack."

o – o – o – o

_8:00 am, July 21__st__, 1998_

_Melinda May_

Melinda swung her bag over her shoulder, walking through the loading dock of the plane hangar at the Triskelion. The bag swung back and forth as she walked between jets and mobile HQs to the one that towered over all the rest. She approached from the right wing of the plane, walking along the huge three-story section of the plane. She reached the end and ducked around the corner, where she saw both Barton and Coulson waiting for the team to gather.

"Agent Coulson! Agent Barton, good morning." She greeted them with a touch of a grin on her face.

"Call me Clint, please Agent May." Barton clapped Melinda on the back. "Especially if you're sticking around." He gave her an easy smile. "You are sticking around, right?" Melinda turned a deadpan look at him.

"Of course, I am, who else can fly your plane?"

"Oy! I'll have you know that I have a pilot's license as well." Barton protested. Melinda elbowed him in the gut, and he stumbled back before dramatically tossing his hands in the air and hurling himself at the ground. "Oh no! You've killed me!" Melinda felt a small smile touch her face at the younger man's antics.

"Honestly Clint, some days I think you're actually five." Coulson sighed, but offered a hand to the man on the ground. Barton grasped it, and Coulson pulled him to his feet.

"Hey guys." Agent Mackenzie called as he arrived at their meeting spot, a black duffle bag swung over his shoulder.

"Mack! Welcome back." Barton responded. "You're just in time."

"Thanks, man. Hey, where's Bobbi?" The darker skinned man asked. Melinda silently seconded the question towards Maria, the woman was nowhere to be seen.

"I haven't seen her, maybe she's not coming?" Melinda responded.

"No, she definitely said she was coming when I asked her yesterday." Mackenzie countered good-naturedly.

"Then she and Maria are both late." Melinda deadpanned back at the man. Coulson nodded in agreement.

"Since S.H.I.E.L.D. was so kinds as to provide us with these supplies, let's start loading the plane up while we wait for them. We're due for take-off in half an hour, we can't afford to wait forever." The team leader instructed them all. Melinda heard various noises of affirmation as she headed over to a stack of crates that were piled up in the corner and lifted one marked 'kitchen' off the stack.

o – o – o – o

_8:25 am_

_Bobbi Morse_

Bobbi ran across the concrete as she headed through the hangar in between planes. Her backpack was over one shoulder, and she could feel it bouncing against her side with each stride she took. She rounded a corner, and her target came into sight.

"Mack!" She called out to the man with two grey wooden boxes in his arms. He turned towards her, and she could see a grin break out across his face.

"Hey, girl! Guys, Bobbi's here!" He called into the plane, and as Bobbi went to stand by Mack, she saw Barton and Coulson disembark from the plane, followed by Agent Calderon.

"Agent Morse, you're late." Agent Calderon commented curtly. "Do try to be on time in the future." The man brushed by her as he left, a file of folders in his arms.

"I thought we set 8:30 as a meeting time?" Bobbi asked, turning to the others.

"8:30 take off, usually we like to arrive someplace about half an hour before take off so we can be ready." Barton commented. Bobbi nodded. 30 minutes early? She could do that, as long as she knew.

"Agent Morse, have you seen Maria anywhere? It's not like her to be late." Bobbi jumped at the sudden noise from behind her and spun around to see that May had approached from behind.

"I did, actually. We ran into each other, and she said to tell you that she's still planning on joining us later, but she's needed in administration for a couple weeks. She said she was concerned about how air-tight the funds for the Avengers were, and that she was going to work to make sure the W.S.C. can't pull funds out from under us or use us to further their personal agendas." A round of nods from all around.

"Alright then, since everyone is here, let's load up and ship out!"

o – o – o – o

_1:30 pm_

_Phil Coulson_

Phil stood in the center of a very impressive situation room on the Helicarrier, a small com in his left ear. He was leaning over a screen with a map of the drug cartel open on it, and the whole thing was imbedded in the table. Four red dots decorated the map in pairs. Clint and Morse were together in the south-eastern side of the building, fighting a small army of gang members as a distraction, while May went with Mackenzie to the boiler room to shut power off to the whole facility.

"It's going to be another left at the next fork, May." Phil spoke, guiding them to the room the blueprints mark as being where the power entered the building.

"Any day now guys, I don't know how much longer Bobbi and I can pretend to lose." Clint added over the coms, startling a laugh from Mackenzie.

"He's not wrong," added Morse.

"You won't have to struggle much longer, Agent Barton." Phil responded dryly. "Truly, a wonder you've managed to hold out this long. Now, third door on the left Agent May." Phil watched as the two red dots labeled May and Mack entered their target room.

"Yeah, this is definitely the place Coulson." Mackenzie commented.

"Good. Get to work."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. said there was an armory on the plane, right? Can we raid that after this? This pistol is doing nothing for me and I kinda broke my bow." Clint jumped in after a moment of silence. When Phil didn't respond, Clint added, "Please, dad?" Phil sighed, but couldn't keep the found smile off of his face.

"Maybe if you behave like a good child." He responded.

"Fiiiiiine dad." Clint whined back, and then the line went quiet, so Phil assumed he'd gone back to hitting people. He rolled his eyes at antics of his partner. There were a couple minutes of silence, and then Morse's voice filled the line.

"Coulson, what room is on the other side of the door to the direct north of us?" Phil looked closer at the corner of the map where the Clint and Bobbi dots were flashing.

"Agent Morse, there is no door north of you guys marked on the blueprints. Agent Barton, do you see it as well?"

"Yeah Phil, I see it. I also see the ten men out front who haven't moved from their post outside to help the others. I'm going in."

"Alright, Agent Morse, keep holding that entrance, Agent Barton, keep in touch. Agent Mackenzie, how's the power going?"

"It should be just a minute or two now, just wrapping up…" Phil watched Clint's dot move across the screen towards the north corner, and heard as Clint began to count down fights, starting at 10.

"You'd think they would have better trained men guarding their secret door, but this is like watching someone knock down bowling pins." Agent Morse commented. Within a minute Clint had the men down.

"It looks like the door has an electronic lock; I'll see if I can jimmy it-"

"That's it, I'm cutting the power!" Mackenzie called.

"And… that opened the door. I'm opening the door, be ready Bobbi." Clint commented. There was a pregnant pause, and then Clint spoke again. "It looks like stairs down. Is there a basement on the blueprints?"

"No, none listed." Phil respond as he checked all the floors of the blueprints. "According to my map, you're staring at a solid concrete supporting wall."

"I'm going in." There was determination in Clint's voice, and Phil knew he wouldn't be able to talk the archer out of going even if he wanted to.

"Alright. Agent Morse, prevent anyone from following him in. Agents May and Mackenzie, the drugs should be located in a storeroom two doors down on the right. Find them and confiscate what one of you can carry to take to the lab, and the other of you should burn the rest."

o – o – o – o

_Clint 'Birdbrain' Barton_

As Clint made his way to bottom of the spiraling stairs, he kept one hand on his standard issue pistol, missing his bow. He had stabbed a man with it after he had run out of arrows, then snapped it in half to impale a second man with the broken and sharp end. Then he had smashed his quiver over a third goon's head.

There had been a version of him that had used a bow as an Avenger, so there was a pretty good chance that there was a bow and quiver stashed somewhere on the ship, right? Clint hoped so. That bow in the mural had looked epic.

Focus Clint. The staircase was mostly dark, and Clint was careful to feel out every step in front of him to avoid unnecessary sound. When he reached to feel out his next step, Clint was met with solid concrete instead of the wood of the stairs. He stepped down, and out into a corridor. The lighting in there was still abysmal, but he could see now which was better than the stairs. The power was still out, so none of the lightbulbs were working, but there was a small window next to the roof at the end of the hallway. Clint realized the darkness was probably his team's fault – he was in a basement, so no natural light, and they'd shut of the artificial lights. No matter, he could work with darkness.

He heard voices coming. They all sounded male, and there were three heavy sets of footprints accompanying them. More guards then. Clint ducked through an open door to his left into an empty storeroom, then whispered into his com.

"Agent Morse, three men coming your way." All he got back was static though. "Fuck." He whispered to himself. Coms were down, then. Probably because of the concrete. Absently, Clint wondered if the plane had super future coms as well. They probably would have worked here.

Suddenly, Clint saw a flash of light to his left, and ducked. With a thunk, a familiar knife imbedded itself in the wall where he had just stood. He grabbed the knife, and pulled it out of the wall, before turning to face his assailant.

"Really, Nat? A simple hello works for most people." He deadpanned at the redheaded assassin.

"You and I have never been most people." She snarked back.

"I'm keeping this knife." Clint pocketed the knife.

"Oy! Those are not cheap; I have a limited quantity."

"You should have thought of that before you tried to kill me. Besides, I might be able to help you with that."

"I am not joining S.H.I.E.L.D, Clint. We've talked about this."

"That's not- let's table this. Drug lords now, possible future superhero versions of us later. Have you seen what's down here?"

"Makes sense- wait, what?"

"I said later, Nat!" Clint smirked at her. It was rare he ever had a one up on her, and he was going to relish this.

"… right. Well, everything's been empty since I started scouting the place last week. But, my contact in the KGB said there's definitely something going on here linked to their operations, and they leave drugs to the bratva." Nat made a frustrated face at that. Mysteries to her were like a bag with one chip left in it to Clint – he just had to eat it, and she had to solve it.

"Have you been able to get into the room at the end of the hall?"

"No, it's got an electronic lock and none of the men have the passcode. Cracking that has always been your kind of thing." Nat admitted to the blonde.

"Luckily for us, my team has already taken out the power to the building. We should have about…" Clint checked his watch, "45 seconds before it comes online again."

"So, we just have to take out the 3 guys up ahead, and get through the door in 30 seconds? Easy."

"Wow, have I missed fighting with you." Clint commented. They burst through the door, guns loaded and ready to fire. Clint fired off 4 bullets, and heard Nat shoot another 5, and all 8 of their men dropped to the ground. "You missed one!" Hey called at her.

"We can't all be you, Hawkeye." Clint froze as she called him that. He wasn't him yet – the man in the painting who was a hero. Hawkeye was a hero. Clint was just… an assassin. No one special. "Birdbrain? You okay?" Clint blinked back to awareness. Nat was holding the door open.

"I- yeah. I'm good. It's related to the thing we really have talk about later." He commented as he headed through the door. Nat stood there holding the door open so that it wouldn't close them behind them. "This is a giant empty room, Nat."

"Birdbrain, look up." Clint followed her direction and looked up, before he took a physical step back. Someone had carved a strange symbol into the roof. Inside a large circle was a pair of tentacles curving along the edges, before meeting up at the base of a flattened ram's skull, where the horns would have been.

"Creepy."

"You big chicken. Let's head out of here and see what we can find on it."

o – o – o – o

_Natasha 'Nat' Romanoff_

Nat followed Clint as the man headed up the stairs. Something was clearly on the archer's mind, but she couldn't quite figure out what. She'd never seen him so preoccupied on a mission before. It was… interesting, to say the least. She'd never been so unable to read him like this before.

As they approached the top of the stairs, Nat stopped. She heard a single pair of footsteps in the room outside, and she stuck her arm in front of Clint to stop him. The archer turned, a confused look on his face. _There's someone at the top of the stairs_ she signed to him, and a brief look of confusion gave away to understanding. Clint shook his head.

"That's Agent Morse, a member of my team. A friendly, not a hostile." Nat nodded her understanding and placed her knife back into its holster from which she had drawn it. She didn't put the holster away though – she didn't know this agent, so she couldn't trust them.

Clint opened the door, and held it open for her as she went through. He followed her, both blinking as their eyes adjusted to the sunlight above ground. Agent Morse came running over towards Clint. She was a lean but tall blonde woman, with a pair of pistols hanging awkwardly at the side of her traditional uniform.

"Agent Barton! You're back!" A huge smile broke across her face, and Natasha could tell from the way her shoulders and legs aborted their motion that she barely restrained herself from throwing her arms around him in a hug.

"It's good to see you to, Agent Morse." The small smirk on Clint's face told her that he could see the aborted motion as well. He raised his hand up to touch his com, before responding to some comment Nat couldn't hear. "You won't be rid of me that easily, Coulson." He paused for a moment to listen to a response, before adding a little bit of snark. "Geese, okay, I hear you dad," dragging out the a-sounds in okay and dad. The archer turned to Agent Morse. "That's a wrap Morse, let's head to the evac point." The blonde nodded, and Clint turned to Natasha. "You coming, 'Tasha?"

"You still owe me several explanations, Barton." She answered in lieu of an actual answer. Agent Morse looked like she wanted to say something to that, but Clint smiled and began to head out of the open door, and she hurried to catch up with him. Natasha followed behind at a more leisurely pace, trying to puzzle out the symbol from the basement. It felt oddly familiar but Nat couldn't place it, try as she might.

o – o – o – o

It ended up being about a 5 minute walk to their evac spot, which was soon revealed to be a huge open grass field, no plane in sight. Nat approached Clint & Morse, and overheard the woman whisper to Clint.

"I still can't believe you know **the** Black Widow." Nat reigned in a snort.

"Neither can he, believe me." She cut in over the archer's response. Agent Morse jumped a little. Nat raised an eyebrow; Usually it was harder to sneak up on a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. _She new?_ Nat signed at Clint, who responded _No, converted lab tech._ That made sense, Nat would transfer out of the labs if she could as well, and the blonde held herself like someone with combat training, even if her awareness could use some work.

"Is that ASL?" Agent Morse cut in.

"Yeah, it's a useful skill. Maybe Friday can teach you?" Nat raised an eyebrow, Friday wasn't proceeded by any rank's title, and the way Clint said her name didn't sound like he was speaking about a distant colleague. Did S.H.I.E.L.D. have him running with a whole team of rookies? Why?

"I wouldn't be surprised if she could. I think she can pretty much do anything." Morse responded. Clint gave a relaxed smirk, and Nat found herself startled at how much his body showed that he trusted the gun-carrying woman. Fuck it, she thought.

"Hey Birdbrain! Did your scary big brother get lost?" She poked him with her elbow.

"Ow Nat! And no, we're just waiting for the rest of-" Nat felt her haunches raise as the sound of a huge explosion came from the direction they had come from. Turning, she saw the roof of the warehouse collapse and a huge pillar of fire blossomed up before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Okay then, note to self. The charges labeled firebomb are literally a bomb and fire." Clint commented. Agent Morse snorted, but Nat raised an eyebrow. Why was Clint working with gear that he didn't know inside and out? That was unlike him. The mystery just kept getting deeper.

"Like Clint was saying, we're just waiting for the rest of our team. Now that the warehouse has blown, they should be here any moment now." Agent Morse finished the earlier statement. Natasha turned to her best friend.

"While we wait, it's time for that conversation you promised me." Nat crossed her arms, her thirst for answers overtaking her wariness of Agent Morse.

"Not the time, Tasha."

"You keep saying that, but your ride is almost here. When will it be time?" Nat was definitely **not** pouting. Definitely.

"The conversation will make a lot more sense with some things I have stowed on the ride."

"Spare me your visual aids, birdbrain. Try me." Nat consciously uncrossed her arms and let them hang by her side, before taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Besides, there's no way I'm going to the Triskelion. I'm not touching the S.H.I.E.L.D. bureaucracy with a five-foot pole, thank you very much."

"We're not going back to the Triskelion. I was hoping you would accept a ride to wherever you choose to go next." Nat paused because that actually sounded really appealing, since she was going to have to go back to Russia to speak to an old contact about the symbol.

"I hate to break up your martial spat, but I see the others." Agent Morse interjected.

"We're not-"

"What makes you think-" Clint and Nat started at the same time before realizing it and stopping at the same time.

"Bobbi! Hey!" A tall African American man called to Agent Morse, whose face caught a grin when she saw him.

"Hey Mack! Have fun storming the castle?" She responded.

"Yup. The part with the explosives was… more than I expected it to be though." The man responded. The short Asian woman to his left snorted.

"Agent Mackenzie! Agent May! Welcome to the waiting club." Clint calls out to their new companions. Given the way they react to the names, Natasha figures the man is Agent Mackenzie, and the women is Agent May.

"When's Evac arriving?" Agent May asked, although she was eyeing Nat with suspicion.

"Coulson says any moment now." Agent Mackenzie responded. Agent Morse leaded to whisper something into his ear, which Nat 100% intended to eavesdrop on, but then the earth began to shake. Nat's eyes flew around in a panic until they landed on Clint's calm face, turned up to the heaven. She followed his line of sight, and immediately wondered how she had missed the fortress that was now descending from the sky. How had she **missed** that the first time?

o – o – o – o


	4. Chapter 4

**I have grand plans for this series but… time and life keep pushing this to the sidelines. Let it be known – I never will abandon this story without making it very clear, even if it takes a while for a new chapter to come out.**

**I have grand plans for this story… someday.**

**Facts: This story is, in fact, temporarily on hiatus. There is a clear reason for this: I am waiting for the black widow movie. The first arc is definitively about Natasha Romanoff + Clint Barton, and while I had a plot in mind before the movie was announced, I decided some time ago to wait until it came out because the plot would be so much more powerful if it was immediately relevant to Natasha's past rather than just punching random drug dealers, and I am sure that whatever Marvel Studios comes up with to be her past demons, they will be better than what I come up with. Until then, here's what I have written so far for the next chapter. I'll see you all in November, post the black widow movie's new release date!**

**o – o – o – o**

**Chapter 4**

_**In Which the Best Option Still Kind of Sucks**_

**o – o – o – o**

_6:30 pm, July 21__th__, 1998_

_Natasha Romanoff_

Nat's eyes snapped open as an internal switch was flipped, and consciousness filled her in an instant. The mattress she was laying on was soft – it skirted the board of being too soft without actually crossing it. She wasn't sinking into it, but it dipped in a little around her body. All in all, the mattress was unfamiliar – and so was the room she had awoken in. The roof was a pale cream color, painted on over a smooth surface. The walls were a stone white, and trim that almost bordered on pale pink. A worn pair of ballet slippers hung from a nail on the wall, surrounded by selections of signed programs from shows both familiar and unfamiliar. A white dresser was tucked up against one of the walls, and a black leather sleeve hangs out of one drawer, and a purple shirt collar is visible in a poorly closed drawer below that. There's a red hourglass rug which peaks out from under the pale pink bed frame. White shelves are on the wall across from the dresser, more of a cream color than the stone wall, and a whole selection of figurines of the same figure, and the red hourglass symbol is repeated in many other pieces of memorabilia.

Out of sheer instinct, Nat reaches under her pillow, and grabs the blade concealed there, before realizing that A: she's alone in the room, so however comforting the steel is between her fingers can be, it's an empty comfort, and B: this is an unfamiliar room, and there is _no_ sane reason for the blade to be exactly where she would grab on instinct. All the same, she slips the knife up the outfit she has on – the same one she was wearing yesterday, she notes from the little rip that had appeared on the side while she fought the drug goons with-

Clint.

Suddenly, memories from earlier come rushing back and Nat's springing out of the bed. The door opens before she reaches it, vanishing into the ceiling, much to Nat's confusion. She heads into the hallway, tearing through the dusty white hallways to find her birdbrain.

o – o – o – o

_Phil Coulson_

This plane was a god damned maze, and Phil would repeat that until his dying day. He swears. Friday had called over the bridge just moments ago, informing the team that the Black Widow was waking, and Phil had agreed to go fill her in, since they were at least passingly familiar, and Clint was currently preforming his best impression of a coma patient in the room Friday had identified as belonging to Clint's future self, and that room was several over from where the room belonging to future Romanoff.


End file.
